


An Exercise in Futility

by Wind_Waves



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Eggsy is sixteen, Hopefully a different take on ABO, M/M, Pre-Slash, nothing really happens between him and Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Waves/pseuds/Wind_Waves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart follows a routine which he adheres to with almost religious devotion: sleep, coffee, Kingsman.  Introducing Eggsy Unwin to it, however, is the equivalent of blowing it to bits with a well-aimed missile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exercise in Futility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paper_lanterns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paper_lanterns/gifts), [faedreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedreamer/gifts).



> I flipped-flopped so much over this story that by the end of it I resembled a dying fish on shore. But eventually I had to get it finished, and so here it is. There is no smut, unfortunately, and only maybe very slight hints of manipulation, but I did my best to fulfill one of your prompts. I hope you like it.

Harry has had the pleasure of eating lunch at the Unwin home exactly once. 

Not to say that he’s only visited once; no. But lunchtimes are difficult to spare in their profession, and days off even more so. In Lee’s case, his family is, and has always been, his first priority. So despite the fact that Harry considers them close friends, it always manages to surprise him when Lee chooses to spend even a fraction of his precious days off with him. 

He imagines Lee sees rather enough of him at work already. 

But on one sunny afternoon, Lee swings a compromise. He invites his senior colleague to his home for lunch, and Harry, finding his schedule clear, winds up on the Unwin doorstep brandishing a bottle of wine and clasping a bouquet of flowers in front of him like a shield. 

Lee throws open the door in a fit of enthusiastic exuberance. “Harry! Come on, in you get.” He grins when he sees the wine. “You posh wanker, you didn’t have to.”

“Manners-” Harry manages before he’s whisked into the hallway. 

“-maketh man, I know, but really Harry. We’re friends now, and by god friends don’t bring 100-pound wines to a simple afternoon lunch. What is it, a Bordeaux?” 

Lee says that, but there is nothing Harry could possibly do to repay Lee’s role in saving his life. Harry suspects he will be paying off that debt until the day he dies. But for the moment- “Merlot, actually, and it was 110 pounds, thank you very much. I shan’t have you accuse me of being cheap.” 

Harry sidesteps Lee’s disbelieving laughter to present the flowers to Mrs. Unwin with a smile. “And for the hostess. Good afternoon, Michelle.” 

“Good afternoon to you too, Harry,” she says, and spares a moment away from the stove to greet him. ‘S lovely weather, innit?” 

“Gorgeous. Why, I can hardly believe we’re still in London.” 

She laughs and harries him towards the dining room, bouquet in hand. “Have a seat, have a seat. The food’s ready, and Eggsy’ll be down in a bit. I don’t know what that boy is doing, I told him we’d be havin’ company.” 

“I don’t mind waiting. And the roast smells delicious, as always.” 

“Charmer,” she scoffs, and Harry escapes to the table before Lee can once more accuse him of trying to steal his wife. The fact that Harry is primarily interested in men does little to dissuade him. 

Lee passes by the dining room, shoots him a wink and a grin, and bounds up the stairs. A few moments later, he leaps back down, teenager dressed in wrinkled clothes stumbling down in his wake. The boy is scrubbing resentfully at his eyes and yawning like he’s just been woken from a pleasant nap. 

“Good morning, Eggsy. Or should I say, good afternoon?” 

Eggsy yelps, eyes shooting wide open. “Sh- ah- Dad, you didn’t tell me it was Harry.” 

“That’s Mr. Hart to you,” Lee shouts on his way to the kitchen, not angry, but gleeful in the way of a man telling a joke. 

The boy’s cheeks pink. He turns his wide-eyed stare on Harry and opens his mouth, as if to apologize. 

Harry cuts him off. “’Harry’ is perfectly fine, Eggsy. Don’t worry about it.” 

He hasn’t seen Lee’s son in quite some time; the last, when the boy was still a child of twelve. Now, at sixteen, Eggsy- or Gary Unwin- is just beginning to grow into his features, a beautiful jawline and piercing green eyes complemented by a compact, muscular body. Nevertheless, he is still a youth, and shifts into his chair with all the faint awkwardness of one forced to spend time with an older, less familiar adult. 

Eggsy leans forwards slightly and inhales- scenting- before relaxing in his seat. “Ok then. If you say so.” 

Harry tilts his head. “Of course I do. Be careful with that, by the way,” he says, and taps the side of his nose. “Some people might take offense.” 

Eggsy goes ruddy red, a warm flush spreading down his throat. Even if Harry wasn’t looking, if Eggsy could hide his facial expressions from a trained spy, Harry would still be able to tell that he was embarrassed by the acrid scent. “I didn’t mean it. Sorry,” he says, and drops his gaze to his trainers. 

“I know, Eggsy, but other people wouldn’t.” Harry sighs, and smiles to soften the blow. “Though I shouldn’t be too hard on you. Michelle and Lee aren’t able to teach you about these things, I suppose.” 

At his words, Eggsy goes quiet, scuffing his shoes on the carpet. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Harry slightly regrets rebuking the boy now, if only because of the awkward silence that has resulted. “Just keep it in mind when you’re meeting other omegas or alphas. I’m sure your friends would have told you about it eventually.” 

The boy shrugs. “Maybe. I dunno if they cared that much if I was scenting them.” He wrinkles his nose. “Most of ‘em are betas, anyways, like Mum and Dad. Can barely get anything out of them.”

“Mm. People like us are a little rarer, aren’t they.” 

“I mean, not that rare. I’ve got Rox, she’s a mate, an alpha. But she’s way too polite, so she wouldn’t tell me if I was being rude.” For a moment, Eggsy loses his bashfulness and gives Harry a blinding grin. “At least, not yet. I’m workin’ on it.” 

“I’m sure you’d succeed at anything you put your mind to, Eggsy,” Harry says. 

Eggsy, somehow, goes even redder. “Thanks, M- Harry.” He fidgets, movements gradually increasing in scope and energy until he’s nearly vibrating out of the chair. Finally, he leaps to his feet. “Gonna go see what Mum’s doing,” he says to the table, and practically runs out of the room. 

Harry stares after him, wondering exactly what he’s done this time, just as Lee re-enters the dining room. He’s holding an enormous platter of potatoes, looking as bewildered as Harry feels. “What did you do to my boy, Harry? He got out of there like the whole place was on fire and crashing around his ears.” 

“Lee,” Harry says, “I’ve really no idea.” 

\---

It is only when he returns home later that evening, full of good food and warmed from the company, that Harry deigns to speculate further on his interactions with the Unwin family.  
Their home had been light, cheerful, clean. It was an improvement over Lee’s previous lodgings, to be sure. The Unwins had told him they were thinking of having another child- and with the salary Kingsman afforded, they were in a better position to house one more mouth under their roof. Harry could not ask for more loving parents. 

But Eggsy. 

The boy’s face flashes in his mind, briefly- flushed cheeks, a jawline so sculpted he wanted to trace it with his fingertips to make sure it was real. Eggsy had been painfully awkward, so much so that Harry finds himself reviewing the conversation even as he fumbles with the keys for his front door. 

Eggsy had been nervous, jittery, embarrassed- about his appearance? Perhaps something about Harry in particular. The line “You didn’t tell me it was Harry” was fairly telling. And then after he’d praised the boy….

Harry nearly drops his keys. 

He contemplates the idea of telling Lee that Eggsy, the man’s own son, has a crush on him. He gets the door open. Hangs up his coat. Then he goes straight to the alcohol cabinet, pours himself three fingers of good scotch, and downs the lot. 

\---

After that particular evening, Harry does his best to put it out of his mind. He never mentions it to Lee. No need to make a mountain out of a molehill. Likely it’s just a teenage infatuation: brief, all-consuming, and ephemeral as the butterflies pinned to his walls.

And since he doesn’t see the boy at all that often, it becomes all the easier for the issue to fade to the background, superseded by more important things. 

For example, his work at Kingsman. Which is becoming suspiciously…managerial, for his tastes. He frowns at the report in his hands, marks off a few discrepancies with requests for clarification, and puts it aside to deliver in the morning. Lancelot is a good agent- excellent, even, but the man’s taste for showboating has led to more than a few issues with agency intelligence. 

He’s not sure when Arthur’s begun delegating his duties, or how, exactly, Merlin talked Harry into doing this, but he dislikes it immensely. Just because Harry just so happens to be sidelined with a minor injury does not mean that he appreciates being saddled with administrative work. 

Which, he thinks viciously, he will make very clear the next time he’s assigned a mission. A few grenades tossed here and there ought to do the trick. 

He’s scowling his way through a budget request for the R&D department- clearly Merlin’s idea of a joke-slash-test, seeing as the numbers are ludicrous by even Kingsman’s standards- when he hears three rapid taps on the door. 

“Come in.” 

The door cracks a fraction, and Lee pokes his head in through the opening. “Galahad, have you got a spare minute?” 

Harry is all too eager to set the form aside. “Of course, Bors. Have a seat.” 

Lee swiftly steps into the room, shutting the door behind him with unusual care. “Actually, I was thinking lunch,” he says. 

A glance at his watch reveals that Harry has, once again, rather spectacularly lost track of time. It’s well past noon, and Lee, by the dirtied cuffs and the scuffed oxfords, has recently returned from a mission. “If you like,” Harry says cautiously. “The cafeteria, or…?” 

Lee hesitates. “Somewhere private,” he says finally. “Nothing serious, just a personal issue.” 

“Very well. Just give me a moment.” Harry stands gingerly, careful of his knee, and uses the second between sweeping on his jacket and ushering Lee out the door to inhale deeply when the man isn’t looking. As a beta, Lee doesn’t put out nearly the amount of pheromones that an alpha or omega might- but as subtle as they are, they are still there, if one knows what to look for. Not everyone can do it, but a combination of Kingsman training and Harry’s own nose make it possible. A faint earthy, acrid smell with the slightest overlay of something sharp and yellowy trails Lee out into the hallway, and one by one Harry puts a name to the scents. Worry and anticipation- neither of them intense, thankfully, but enough for Harry to revise his expectations for lunch. 

They wind up at a small, intimate restaurant, all dim light and dark paneled wood. The décor is restrained and tasteful. Neither Harry nor Lee look out of place in their suits. Although it is a weekday, the restaurant enough customers to fill the air with the low hum of voices- enough to ensure that their conversation will go unremarked. 

After they’re settled in the booth and the waiter takes their orders, Harry finally turns to Lee. “All right. What’s the matter?” 

Lee takes a fortifying sip of water before answering. “It’s to do with Eggsy.” 

Only decades’ worth of practice in restraint prevents Harry from choking on his own spit. “I’m hardly the most qualified to speak to you about your son.” 

Lee frowns. “I think in this case you are. You’ve met him a few times by now, right?” 

“Yes,” Harry says warily, “but I’m not sure how that is relevant.” 

“It is. I’m not asking you anything to do with, you know, the usual complaints- moodiness, temper, drugs, grades, or- or crushes, what have you. It’s more…” He waves his hand at Harry, and then finishes by shrugging expansively. “You know.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” 

“Well-“ Lee begins, then huffs, frustrated. “You do know Eggsy’s an omega?” 

“I am aware.” 

“Gave us a bit of a surprise, that did, because Michelle and I were betas, and the odds of us getting an alpha or omega were…” Lee shrugs. “Well, you know. Anyway, the point is that our boy is an omega, and there are certain things we don’t understand.” 

Harry wishes the glass in front of him was filled with beer instead of water. “I see.” 

“Do you?” Lee asks. “Because it’s very difficult to explain certain scenting to a child when you don’t experience it yourself, or pheromones, or bonding, or heat-“ 

“I understand,” Harry says hastily, but the Lee carries on, oblivious.

“And even besides all of that,” Lee waves a hand, “There’s a whole host of social rules I’ve barely noticed that Eggsy has to deal with- do you know, he told me the other day that he needed to go to the drugstore to buy some pheromone suppressants- something about not having them being rude?- And I had no idea. Absolutely no clue. And I can’t just find out about these things by reading a book, can I?” Lee slumps in his seat dejectedly. “Do you take suppressants?” 

Harry gulps at his water like a dying man. “I’m afraid that’s- a- somewhat personal question-“ 

“Ha-rry,” Lee whines. It’s most unbecoming of a man Lee’s age, but Harry finds himself bending under the onslaught. 

“Fine. Yes, I do, but it’s not always necessary. And it’s partially a matter of politeness, and partially a matter of personal taste.” 

“Oh?” 

“I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you,” Harry says. “But to sum up a somewhat controversial topic, some alphas and omegas believe that it is a necessity to take suppressants, as the release of excess pheromones can be… distracting, while a vocal minority believes that suppressants are a crutch, and moreover, that the convention of having to take them is the result of oppression and militant self-policing.” 

“I see,” Lee says. 

It’s very clear that he doesn’t, but Harry soldiers on. “However, to return to your original point- if and alpha or omega teenager wants to take suppressants, they should be permitted to. It can help limit reckless or aggressive behavior.” 

“Does that happen often?” Lee asks faintly. 

“No,” Harry says. “But it does happen. I’ve seen it; I attended a very traditional school.” He pauses. “Keep in mind this was before suppressants were approved for adolescent use.” 

He lets Lee form his own ideas as the food arrives, and for a gratifyingly long period of time all Harry hears is silence and the scrape of silverware. 

Unfortunately, Lee scrapes up the courage to return to the topic. “Shows how much I know, doesn’t it,” he jokes weakly. “And since you won’t be going out to the field for some time- don’t give me that look, Harry, it wasn’t my fault- I wanted to ask a favor of you.” 

Harry puts down his fork and knife and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Does this have anything to do with Eggsy.” 

“…Yes?” 

“Out with it, Lee.” 

“I’ll be heading out again in a week,” Lee says, “and that’s exactly when Michelle will be going to see her mother- apparently Alicia broke her hip tripping down some steps. Extraordinarily poor timing, I know.” 

A sudden wave of dread prickles up his spine. “And?” 

“And, I was hoping you could look after Eggsy for a bit?” 

Harry fixes Lee with a gimlet eye. “What happened to Martha?” 

“Well, nothing, but- waitaminute hear me out!” Lee says as Harry opens his mouth. “I just…” Lee sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his hair. “Look, Harry, I know absolutely nothing about this alpha and omega business, and there’s only so much I or Michelle can do with books and the internet. And I’m always traveling for Kingsman so I can’t be there as much as I’d like. So,” he tries, “I was hoping you could teach him?” 

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. 

Lee is an honorable man, and more than that, a good friend. He would not impose this far on Harry unless he felt that he had no other choice, or that this was the best course of action for Eggsy; Harry could envision Lee imposing on all sorts for the sake of his family. And finally, Lee could probably tally the number of alphas and omegas he was acquainted with on his hands, and those he trusted enough to ask such a favor likely numbered one: Harry himself. 

Damn. 

He opens his eyes and meets Lee’s pleading gaze. “How long will you and Michelle be gone?” 

There’s already a smile spreading across Lee’s face, damn the man. “I don’t know about the mission, but Michelle will be back in a week, two at the most.” 

During his thirty-odd years at Kingsman, Harry has learned that are some things that are simply unavoidable. Injury, paperwork (for a covert organization Kingsman generates quite a lot of it), and his own mortality. This might as well join the list. “Very well. No more than two weeks.” 

Lee beams. “Thank you, Harry.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Lee,” Harry sighs. “I hope I won’t regret this.” 

“I’ll make sure Eggsy will be on his best behavior,” Lee promises. 

“He’d better be,” Harry says, and that’s that. 

\---

Eggsy comes to Harry’s home on a Saturday afternoon. At lunchtime, as is fitting. 

“Nice place, guv.” The wheels of his suitcase make clicking noises as they roll across the wood flooring. 

“Thank you,” Harry says absently, dropping his keys into a nearby dish. “The guest room is upstairs, down the hall. First door on the left. You can put your things there.” He turns around to see the boy gaping open-mouthed at his framed lepidoptera (tk?) hanging in the stairwell and groans silently to himself. “Come along. I’ll show you.” 

Eggsy only gets more, ahem, bug-eyed as he sees that the insect displays continue upwards. “Um. You really like butterflies, then?” 

“It’s a hobby,” Harry says. The moment Eggsy inevitably makes use of the downstairs bathroom will undoubtedly be an unpleasant one.

“Okayyy then,” the boy says. Despite the lack of further comment, Harry can feel the silent teenage judgement beating against his back. Ah, to be young. 

Thankfully his joints don’t creak as he ascends; not yet, at any rate. His sprained knee radiates a dull ache, but doesn’t impede him greatly. Already in the upstairs hall, Harry turns back to see if Eggsy is following and sees the boy frozen on the landing. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah I’m good. Sorry.” Eggsy puts his hands in his pockets, shuffling awkwardly. “I was just wondering. Is your bedroom that way?” he asks, jerking his head to the left. 

“Yes, of course,” Harry replies, bewildered. 

“I could tell.” 

“The layout is fairly conventional.”

“No, I mean. Like.” He nods at the master bedroom in question. “You don’t have a wife, or anything, do you? You just live here by yourself.” 

“Correct,” Harry says, humoring. 

“And no one’s used the guest in a long time. It’s..dusty.” He wrinkles his nose. “Really dusty.” 

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “I haven’t had the chance to clean it out recently, no. But I did launder the sheets and wipe down the bathroom, if that’s what’s you’re concerned about.” 

“Nah. The room itself is musty, and I bet it’s ‘cause you ain’t around enough for it to be used,” Eggsy says, with confidence. 

Harry pauses with his hand on the guest room door. “Whatever gave you that idea?” 

The boy’s eyes spark. “Well, your scent’s stronger towards your room, but it’s not so strong that it seems like you’ve been sleeping in your own bed everyday.” He wiggles his hand in the air. “It’s faded, like.” 

“And if I said I had a very thorough housekeeper?.” 

Eggsy shakes his head. “Nah. I’d smell more detergent then, and less dust. I bet all they do is shake out the sheets and tidy up every once in a while when you’re away.” 

Harry smiles. “And how would you know that?” 

“Underneath your cologne and scent it smells like dust and ‘freshener, and you haven’t been staying here long enough yet make it go away. But everything looks neat, yeah? Clean.” 

“Well, you’re full of surprises,” Harry murmurs. “Perceptive of you.” 

“Er.” Eggsy pauses. Blushes in a very familiar way. With the next inhale comes traces of pheromones, heady and sweet. “Thanks.” 

Ah. Fuck. Well. That answers a few questions. 

“Eggsy,” Harry says hesitantly, “Did you get suppressants before you came over here?” 

“Uh. Yeah?” 

“Did you take them?” 

“Nah.” 

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. “May I ask why?” 

“Well, Dad said I technically didn’t have to? Or something? I dunno, he went on and on about how I should and but that it was ok if I didn’t… I didn’t really get it.” Upon seeing the look on Harry’s face, he continues hastily. “I brought some just in case, though.” 

It dawns on Harry that Lee may have attempted to regurgitate the lecture Harry had given to him in the restaurant to Eggsy, with less-than-ideal results. “Well, that is true, to a certain extent. But put away your things, and we can go downstairs to talk.” He pauses before the stairs. “And please bring your suppressants with you when you do?” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

They meet downstairs shortly afterwards in Harry’s expansive dining room. Eggsy sits on the very edge of the chair, taking wary glances at the silverware all the while. Harry winces; perhpas it had all been a bit much. But the boy eventually dismisses the shining service, takes the little bottle of suppressants out of his pocket, and sets it on the table’s polished surface. 

“’Kay, so what’s up with the pills?” 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Nothing. For most alphas and omegas suppressants are simply a fact of life. Makes things easier. Would you like some tea?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Excellent.” 

Harry puts the kettle on and busies himself with the accompaniments- milk, sugar, biscuits. Eggsy watches him the entire time, and perks up when the sweets come out. “Thanks.” 

“You’re quite welcome. Go on, I’ll explain while you eat.” He waits for Eggsy to take the first few bites before starting. “I’m sure Lee told you some things, but to clear up any confusion, you’d better tell me what you think first.” 

Eggsy purses his lips. “Like I said, it was kinda confusing. I think… essentially, alphas an’ omegas have the choice whether to take them? And most do,” he concludes. “Roxy told me to get them and take them but after what dad said I wasn’t sure.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “And I didn’t really wanna take them, because it seemed…” 

“Strange?” Harry asks.

“…Yeah.” 

Harry wonders, briefly, if there has been teasing. Perhaps nothing too vicious, but in a school full of mostly betas, not many students would have understood the usage of suppressants. “Well, there is no need to be concerned,” Harry says lightly. “I can assure you, I take them on a fairly regular basis myself. After some time, you will figure out when they are necessary and when they are not.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Harry opens his mouth. Closes it. The last time he’d found himself in such an uncomfortable position was his last mission in Iceland, which involved a hypothermic Gawain and the unfortunate necessity of sharing body heat. “Surely you were taught some of this in your classes?” 

Eggsy scratches his head, sheepish, while embarrassment comes off him in sour waves. “Sort of.” He adds: “Dad said I could trust you, and, I don’t wanna ask the professors this kind of stuff.” 

Lee owes him. Harry’s not sure what, yet, but Lee owes him something. “Very well,” Harry says, clinging to composure by virtue of good breeding and a very stiff upper lip. “It has to do with whenever your heat is. Do you understand?” He asks. 

“Not really.” 

God help him. “Well. Do you know what heat is?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Haven’t had one yet, though, according to the doc.” 

“Please. Tell me what you know.” 

“Okay. I’m supposed to get em’ once a month, or something, and it’s usually a week or so. And I’ll be irritable, sensitive to smells, pheromones, and the opposite sex.” It’s clear that he’s reeling off a line from a text book. He wrinkles his nose. “Supposedly.” 

“I see. Well, that’s correct. One usually takes suppressants during these heats to prevent… impulsive behavior. Outside of heats, they are usually unnecessary. Some people choose to not take them at all, but this is fairly uncommon. You’ll find that many do not appreciate it,” Harry says wryly. “In your case, I suspect you are approaching your first heat, or are simply a teenager producing an excess of pheromones.” He pauses significantly. “Or you’re spending a great deal of time with someone you’re attracted to.” 

“What,” Eggsy says blankly and with an edge of hysteria. “Can you…” he points at his nose. 

“Yes,” Harry says, already regretting it. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” the boy mutters, and slides down his chair. What little of Eggsy’s face Harry can see under the cap has gone a bright, violent red. 

Conveniently, the kettle chooses to go off at that exact moment. A high-pitched whistle shatters the air, and Harry stands. “I’ll be right back.” 

When Harry returns, tea in hand, most of the boy’s embarrassment seems to have faded, only to be replaced with indignation. 

He cradles the steaming cup in his hand, and accepts Harry’s offer of both milk and sugar. “Why didn’t Roxy tell me?” he mutters, seemingly to himself. 

Harry answers anyways. “She may be too polite to mention it. She did tell you to take suppressants, didn’t she?” 

Eggsy doesn’t seem to believe him. The set of his mouth promises retaliation. “Nah, it ain’t that. She was messin’ with me.” 

“Was she?” 

Eggsy sinks lower. “Yeah. ‘S nothing.” 

It does not seem like nothing, but Harry holds his peace. He silently savors his tea, a nice Darjeeling, and observes the boy over the rim of his cup. When he judges that most of the awkwardness has passed, he says, “I’d advise that you take the suppressants. It is ultimately your own decision, but-”

“No, yeah, I’ll take them.” He hunches. “Sorry about that.” 

“No harm done. I’m sure your peers have had similar experiences. It most certainly was a problem of mine.” 

“Really,” Eggsy says, “you?” He sounds skeptical and downtrodden and Harry can’t possibly leave the boy like this. 

He sets down his cup, smiling. “That’s very flattering, Eggsy, but yes. Even me. Back in my day, teenagers couldn’t use suppressants. And, as you might imagine, being attracted to anyone was a rather difficult secret to keep.” 

Eggsy wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Ugh.” 

“Yes. But not to worry; you learn to control it a little better as you get older. And if not…” 

“Suppressants,” the boy sighs. 

“Exactly.” 

Harry leans back, satisfied. All told, he goes to bed that evening optimistic that the next week or so might not turn out to be a horrid awkward mess. 

Honestly, he ought to have learned better by now. 

\---

“You had your pet dog preserved and stuffed and you put him in your downstairs bathroom,” Eggsy says. His voice has a hysterical wobble to it that Harry usually associates with the recently bereaved. 

Harry closes his eyes. “Yes.” 

“You named him Mr. Pickle.” 

“That is what it says on the plaque,” Harry says, and his eyes stray to the side table where he usually keeps a crystal decanter. Drinking with a teenager in his home and under his supervision would be, as Lee might put it, “spectacularly bad form,” but Harry has never been so tempted. 

“Why,” the boy bleats. 

Harry sighs. 

\---

Two days pass with no remarkable incident save for Eggsy discovering Mr. Pickle, and by day four Harry is just beginning to settle into new routine. Which is for the best; he learns from Michelle that Eggsy will indeed be staying with him for the full two weeks before going back to his parents for the rest of the summer holiday.

The boy isn’t much trouble. He cleans up after himself, is polite, and he’s only knocked down Harry’s butterflies twice during stumbling midnight trips to the loo. Still, the presence of an unfamiliar body loitering about his home sends Harry’s nerves prickling into overdrive. He’s slept rather poorly as a result. 

This is his excuse when he stumbles downstairs one morning far later than usual, hair completely out of order and his knee throbbing like the devil. Somehow, he utterly fails to register the mouthwatering scent of eggs and richly buttered toast as anything out of the ordinary- disgraceful, for a spy of Harry’s caliber. 

It takes him wandering into the kitchen, wandering back out, and Eggsy calling out “Harry!” in a voice far too chipper for the hour before Harry notices the shining spread on his dining table. 

Breakfast. 

Eggsy has made him breakfast. 

He usually can’t be bothered to make breakfast for himself, and only drinks coffee before work because god knows how else he’d able to function in the early morning hour. And yet, here in front of him sit golden fried eggs, crisp hot toast, marmalade and butter, all ready and waiting as if he had a servant who cooked for him. Which he does not. 

From the seat across from him Eggsy takes an obnoxious, crunching bite out of his toast. “G’mornin’.” 

“Good morning,” Harry says automatically. He rubs his eyes and blinks again. 

The eggs remain unmoved. 

“Do you eat breakfast?” Eggsy asks, breaking his reverie. “Sorry, I should have asked. I know Dad sometimes skips.” 

Harry makes the mistake of meeting the boy’s gaze and finds himself utterly unable to give the truthful answer. Instead, he pours himself a cup of coffee, adds the requisite amount of cream and sugar, and draws a chair to sit as if he does it daily. “Of course I do. Thank you, Eggsy,” he says warmly, “you didn’t have to.” He casts an eye across the table. “Really, I’m the one who should be preparing your meals.” 

Eggsy shrugs half-heartedly. “I wanted to,” he says. “It was no problem.” 

Was it, now. Harry doubts that. He drinks his coffee and scrapes his plate clean. Eggsy is a passable cook. Later, he is forced to shoot down Eggsy’s attempts at clearing the dishes- or, god forbid, washing them for him. 

“I cooked, I’ll clean,” Eggsy insists. 

“Eggsy,” Harry says, “You are my guest, and moreover, I am a grown man capable of taking care of himself. It would be the height of rudeness to allow you to wash my plates.” 

Afterwards, Harry slides the plates into a rack to dry, tall and serene. Eggsy’s frustrated grumping when Harry is in the way every time Eggsy tries to help is the exact opposite. Harry admits to himself that he finds it amusing, and lingers as a result. 

Needless to say, he is late to work that morning. 

“Lee’s boy keeping you up, Galahad?” Merlin quips. 

Harry doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. 

\---

Unfortunately, Merlin’s insinuation is at least partially true. Working in his office while Eggsy is in his home is an exercise in futility. 

Either he’s too distracted by all the small noises Eggsy makes while puttering around, or Eggsy follows him into the office, sitting on the carpet to do his summer homework or clicking around on his laptop with his headphones in. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he can’t see Eggsy’s movements over the edge of the desk. Sheer ingrained paranoia plus decades of being a very accomplished spy means that he won’t get any work done, for fear of revealing confidential information. 

Eventually, Harry takes his own laptop to the living room instead, making a new, temporary nest in a plush chair that sets his back to a corner and gives him a good view of all potential entrances and exits. His vantage point ensures that he knows whenever Eggsy leaves his bedroom, and has the added benefit of allowing him to able to actually monitor Eggsy effectively, especially if he decides to sit in the living room. 

And with Harry having shifted his base of operations there, sit in the living room Eggsy does. 

Where Harry goes, Eggsy tends to follow. Harry tells himself that there are a number of reasons for Eggsy to prefer his company. Firstly, his home is not well-suited to children or adolescents, and the insects pinned to the walls do little to help matters. It is quiet, old, not a little dusty, and unfamiliar, completely lacking of the normal sounds and smells of a family. It is therefore unsurprising that Eggsy choses the presence of another person over four blank walls. 

Or, at least it should be. 

For some reason, Eggsy has chosen to spend a great deal of time willingly in the company of a man literally old enough to be his father, and Harry isn’t quite sure why. 

He brings it up in passing at the beginning of the second week. Out of idle curiosity, mainly.

“Surely, the kitchen table would be more comfortable,” Harry remarks. Eggsy merely continues spreading his papers and textbooks out in an increasingly familiar semicircle on the carpet. 

“Yeah, probably,” Eggsy shrugs. “But I like it better out here.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Just how you liked working on the floor of my office.” 

“Yep,” Eggsy says cheerfully. 

“Do you usually sit like that with your parents when they’re home?” 

Eggsy gives an him an odd look, scratching the end of his chin with a pencil. “Hell no.” 

“Language,” Harry says absently, and Eggsy just snorts. Perhaps he deserves the derision; he hasn’t been the most circumspect about his own words as he should have. Harry had been caught once swearing freely and evenly in conversation with Merlin over paperwork before he’d remembered that Eggsy was in his office. But back to the topic at hand: “Why not?” 

Eggsy shrugs. “Well, first off, Dad’s usually working. And-“ he wrinkles his nose- “Mum worries. She’s always asking me if everything’s going alright, or making sure I’m doing this or that. I can handle it on my own.” 

“So what makes this,” Harry gestures between the two of them, “different?” 

“I mean, you’re not bothering me or anything.” 

“Oh, really,” Harry teases gently. 

“Okay, so you don’t usually bother me, or talk much.”

“Then why spend time with me at all?” 

Eggsy scowls. “Now you’re just making fun of me.” 

“No, no. I’m curious.” 

Eggsy looks at him. Looks away. Shuffles the papers at his feet. “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“I dunno,” he repeats. “You’re… fun to be around, I guess. It’s… easy.” 

Harry blinks over the rim of his glasses, startled. He’s never really considered himself an easy person to live with. One disastrous stay with Merlin in his younger years could attest to that. But, he supposes, besides the constant twitchiness and the lost sleep, he’s tolerated Eggsy’s presence surprisingly well. 

Huh. 

\---

And that would have been it. Should have been it. 

But on the second Wednesday, Harry wakes up at an unholy hour with sweat prickling down his spine and the heavy, thick scent of familiar pheromones not his own in the air. 

Only one thing comes to mind: Eggsy. 

He’s out of the bed in half an instant, robe and glasses swept on, and marching down the hall. Just in case, brings his own bottle of Kingsman-issue suppressants with him to drug Eggsy, if necessary. 

At the closed guestroom door, he knocks. When Eggsy doesn’t answer, he exhales softly. “Eggsy? Are you alright?” 

No response. 

Quietly, he debates the merits of contacting Kingsman. A quick check of the cameras reveals an Eggsy shaped lump under the duvet and no visible signs of anything amiss. No, best not rouse Merlin in a situation like this unless he’s certain it’s an emergency. 

Only one thing for it then. 

He knocks, one more time. “I’m opening the door, Eggsy.” 

The light from the hallway casts a wedge of brightness over the dim interior of the room. Harry picks his way across the floor to the bed, putting a hand on where he thinks Eggsy’s shoulder is. 

“Eggsy.” Harry shakes the boy gently. Instead of waking up, or anything reasonable like that, Eggsy merely murmurs quietly in his sleep and rolls away, tangling himself further in the duvet. 

Harry sighs. How on earth does he get into these situations? From the wife of a wealthy political lobbyist trying to entice him into a threesome to getting stuck in an enormous electronically-sealed safe for six hours while what was supposed to be a simple grab-and-go, Harry’s missions skew towards the ridiculous and this, while not necessarily a mission, is no different. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, wishing Lee could deal with this while the scent Eggsy is releasing curdles in his stomach. 

Lee wouldn’t even know what was wrong. Lee would check for a temperature, the concerned, solicitous parent, and forget about it when it passed in a week, chalking it up to a passing bug. Maybe Michelle, more used to seeing Eggsy ill, would be able to sense something wrong. But she’s not here either, so it falls to Harry to tend to their son. 

Harry puts a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, and urges the boy to turn back towards him. He’s met with surprisingly little resistance. Eggsy curls towards Harry, and opens his eyes. 

Eggsy will be a handsome young man, Harry thinks absently. 

“…Harry? What’re you doin’ here?” Eggsy says. 

“You woke me up,” Harry says. 

Eggsy’s eyes go very wide as he sits right up. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I just think you’re going through your first heat.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“Just the opposite, I’m afraid.” Keep it brisk, keep things moving. “Did you take your suppressants yesterday, or did you forget?” 

Eggsy gives him an oddly guilty look. “I didn’t take them,” he mumbles. “must’ve forgot.” 

“It’s fine,” Harry says automatically. “You’ll just be uncomfortable for a day or so until your next dose kicks in.” He looks around, realizing that the pill might be easier to swallow with some water. More to the point, hydration might be nice with how feverish Eggsy looks. “I’ll be right back.” 

Harry fills one glass for Eggsy, and one for himself. He drains his glass, fills it again, and presses the cool surface to his forehead. There are fine tremors running through his hands. It has been far too long since he was exposed to this concentration of pheromones. He has forgotten the affect it has on his mind, his body, how it makes him soft and conciliatory. 

It’s not…terrible. But it doesn’t mean he likes it, especially in current circumstances. 

Eggsy should have taken his suppressants. He should have kept taking them until he was back in his own home. But he had not, and for that, Harry had no one to blame but himself; he’d simply assumed Eggsy would do so as a matter of course, with the boy’s own embarrassment as insurance. Unfortunately, the mistake has already been made. There is no other way out but through. 

Harry takes the precious few minutes from the kitchen back to Eggsy’s room to gather himself. “I’m back,” he calls, and sets the glasses of water on the bedside table. Eggsy is sitting upright, blankets pulled over his lap. He’s turned on the lamp and is frowning at the little container of suppressants in his hands. His head jerks up when Harry re-enters, and Harry can see that his entire face is red to the tips of his ears. 

“Thanks,” Eggsy says. “I’m sorry about… this.” 

“What’s done is done.” Harry takes the bottle from Eggsy’s hands and tips out a little white oval pill. Eggsy takes it. “How are you?” 

Eggsy fidgets. “Feels weird. Uncomfortable. Everything’s too warm.” His eyes droop. “’M tired.” 

“Perfectly normal. It will pass soon,” Harry says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. “You should go back to sleep, too. It’s still very early.” When he makes to stand, Eggsy’s hand catches in the sleeve of his robe.

“Stay?” Eggsy sees the look on his face and hastily adds, “Not too long, just until I go to sleep. Please.” 

Harry stares at him, and slowly resettles on the bed. “Alright,” he says. “Alright.” He remembers his own first heat. While the physical effects had been discomfiting on their own, what he remembers the most from the whole experience is the isolation, the loneliness, when he’d been separated from his peers. 

Things are a little less old-fashioned these days. But he’s still loathe to let anyone suffer the same. A surge of unexpected affection washes over him when Eggsy relaxes, hand still on his sleeve, and finally falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I may add more to this after I reread it when I'm less sleep-deprived.


End file.
